Page 21 of Roses in Amber
"I never wanted children, unless I could beget one on you. Your son is as close as I can have to that, but he'syourson. I was never more than a caretaker to him." Her stroking fingers made their way down my belly and thighs, until I, Amber, came to myself shuddering with pleasure and leaning on a windowsill for support.
Night had fallen and the rain had stopped while I'd been tangled in Irindala's…dreams. I had no better word for what they were. My dreams, perhaps, and her memories, but whichever they were, they'd stolen the day away from me. Flushed, I went to wash before dinner, and to my surprise, then found the dining hall empty. I had no sense of the time at all, save that I was hungry, but the Beast had always waited for me before. I ate a little, then, remembering it, went to the observatory to see if the height of the moon might tell me if I'd lost more than the day, but also half the night as well.
I knew before I climbed the observatory's narrow stairs that the Beast was up there: the air's weight changed when he was nearby, and in daylight or at dinner I had become largely accustomed to it. It felt different at night, without the familiar trappings, and I noticed it more clearly. Nor did it fade as I entered the observatory. It was late indeed, the stars so far along in their nightly wheel that morning had to be closer than dusk. The Beast was a shadow on the floor. I barely had time to realize he was lying on his back, belly exposed to the sky like a giant dog, before he flipped himself over and rose to his feet with inhuman speed. "Amber?"
"Did I wake you?" Amusement colored my tone. I couldn't imagine him being caught in such an undignified position unless he hadn't heard or smelled me coming, and I doubted he would fail to do either of those things unless he had been asleep.
He sounded gruffly embarrassed. "Yes."
"Sorry." I sat on one of the cushioned benches, looking up at the stars. "Do you often sleep up here?"
"Often enough," he said guardedly. "I find the distance from the gardens comforting."
"The gardens," I echoed, faintly surprised. "It's the forest that seems threatening, to me."
"And yet it was the roses that imprisoned you here."
I glanced at him, an eyebrow arched. "Theroses?"
"The edict that they must not be picked is not mine. I only enforce it."
"With great enthusiasm. Does this place—does it drag you into visions, too? Memories so real it's like you're living them yourself?"
The Beast bared his teeth suddenly, a brief and ferocious gesture. My gut tightened, but his gaze turned away; apparently the anger he'd shown wasn't for me. "No. Not for a long time."
"That's your answer to everything!"
"That is my experience." He sat on the bench opposite me, as well away from me as he could in the confines of the observatory. I thought he was trying not to trap me, which would have been comforting if he hadn't continued in a low growl. "This place, this palace…it rescues stories. It's trying to determine how you fit into its story. Where you belong. What role you play."
I drew my knees up, looking to the stars again. "What roledoI play?"
The Beast shook his head. "I don't know. I'm an old part of its story, now. The captive in the castle. But there is rarely more than one captive in the old tales, Amber, so by rights, you must play some other role. It's trying on its memories, the stories that it knows, to see if any of them fit you."
"Why is it telling me Queen Irindala's story?"
A truly massive sound of surprise erupted from the Beast's chest. "Irindala was my mother."
I made an incredulous sound almost as large. "But you're a Beast! Irindala only had one child, the son who was los—oh.Oh." I stared across the darkness at him, dumbfounded. "I knew you weren't always a Beast. How stupid of me."
"Oh yes." The Beast shifted on the bench, folding himself until he lay like an enormous cat, his front feet folded neatly over one another, and looked toward me levelly. "How stupid of you to not immediately realize that the monster who took you captive was in fact the queen's son who disappeared over a century ago. Whatever could you have been thinking."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He took a breath that expanded his apparent size by half, and exhaled it in something near a growl. "Would you have believed me?"
I spread my hands, trying to encompass everything: the palace that shouldn't be there, the Beast lying before me, the servants who were invisible but extraordinarily good at procuring whatever might be desired at a moment's notice, and said, "Probably."
The Beast chuffed, the deep sound I was coming to recognize as his laughter, and dipped his head in a nod. "Perhaps you would have. I think it didn't occur to me. People rarely find their way here, and I encounter few of those who do. Much of my time is spent…" He moved a paw as a cat might twitch its tail, or a human wave a hand, as if trying to say something words didn't easily convey.
"As a Beast?" I ventured. "Without thought, without…time?"
"It was sheer fortune that I wore trousers when I first saw you," he said, as if that supported my theory. I supposed it did, at that, but it made me smile anyway. "I hadn't bothered with any kind of…humanity…for—" His gaze lifted suddenly and I said it for him, amused: "A long time."
"Quite a long time indeed," he agreed. "If I'd been more in practice I might have been less…"
"Terrifying," I offered. "Loud. Monstrous. Rabid. Enrag—"
"That," the Beast said prissily, "is quite enough. But yes. All I knew was that someone had picked a rose, and I was furious. It took me most of the way to the garden to remember how to use words."
